


Realisations

by Peasantaries



Series: these paths, that keep crossing [14]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Best Friends, Bonding, Childhood Friends, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Growing Up, Harry Potter References, M/M, Mates, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Scenting, Supportive Katsuki Yuuri, Supportive Victor Nikiforov, The Lord of the Rings References, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-03-30 14:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13953159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peasantaries/pseuds/Peasantaries
Summary: “I was going to ask Yuuri to marry me!” Viktor flails his arms around. “I was going to say 'Yuuri, hey, we should totally get married and have a wedding’, and only just now realised that it would be totally weird and freaky because getting married is only something couples do, when I’ve always thought that you just did it with your best friend and got free cake!” Viktor thunks his head on the table again, the full extent of his idiocy sweeping through him.“Is he joking?” Phichit whispers.“I think he’s being serious.”“Stop – talking about me!” Viktor splutters, his face turning various shades of purple as he lifts his head and glares. “Do you not realise how bad this is?”Viktor has a few realisations.





	1. letters and planning

**Author's Note:**

> Where to begin??? First thing's first, the tags are not a drill, so please read them before you continue! In the usual fluffy fashion of this series, it is extremely light angst and is very quickly resolved, and only a very small section of this fic, but it's there. I'm actually not super sure how I feel about this update, so _please _let me know if you are for/against. I do want to bring in more development of their relationship etc.__
> 
> Also, as an apology for this/to cheer all you lovely readers up, if you comment something you'd like to read/a little prompt, I'll write it in the comments section! yep! I did this a while back for a commenter who wanted to see the scene of Viktor rushing in when Yuuri stubbed his foot in School Bleachers and Soccer Practise, so if you have any little scene idea or something you've been wanting to see in the series and it's never cropped up, ask for it !!! I think you guys deserve it tbh, for being the best commenters ever <333

Viktor has planned their wedding four times.

Four times, because they would need four different types of cake.

Chocolate, of course, because there needs to be _chocolate cake,_ and what kind of wedding would it be if there wasn’t any chocolate cake? Viktor has never been to a wedding, _yet_ , but he’s heard that the people getting married are allowed to pick the cake, and if that’s true, Viktor won’t stand for _anything_ but chocolate.

But then there are lots of different _types_ of chocolate cake, like chocolate cake with chocolate icing on the top, or chocolate cream in the middle, or chocolate cupcakes, or brownies, or a chocolate _fountain_ and people can dip marshmallows in–

So Viktor quickly realises they might need to pick just one type of chocolate cake, unless he wants their wedding to become a chocolate party.

But _then_ Viktor tastes some Victoria sponge at a christening party for one of mama’s friends, and quickly decides that _this_ , _this cake_ , also needs to be in their wedding.

“Wha’ kin’a cake ‘s’is?” Viktor sprays pieces of sponge as he speaks, words muffled by too much cake in his mouth, holding his paper plate clenched in a small fist. He stands in front of the grown-up table, eyes wide and unblinking as he waits for an answer. He’d rushed over to find out, nearly skidding across the dancefloor before coming to a halt in front of a very confused mama.

“Honey, don’t speak with your mouth full.” Mama scolds, glancing off to her friends before looking back to him. “That’s called ‘Victoria Sponge’, it’s got cream and jam in it.” She brushes some of his hair away from his face, pointing to the middle that tastes like strawberries.

Viktor nods. “Ictora ‘Punge.” He garbles, and fishes his List of Things out of his trouser pocket. The list contains all the things Viktor has discovered along the way that might come in handy when planning their wedding, but mostly looks like bullet points for the various kinds of chocolate one can eat.

He finds a pen in his other pocket, and puts his paper plate on the floor to lean over the table and write it down.

_Vitora Spuang,_ he spells out, very carefully and deliberately.

“Sweetheart, don’t put food on the floor.” Mama scolds again.

*

Viktor loses the list when he’s eight years old.

“What ‘s it?” Yuuri asks, confused, head tilted to the side as he watches with a smile on his face as Viktor searches through all his pockets.

It wasn’t _that important,_ and he didn’t even have that much information on it, not anything that he couldn’t remember again and write down on a new list, but for some reason Viktor feels as if maybe that’s not true; as if  maybe he’s written something on it that he won’t be able to find again, like maybe something Yuuri said that sparked an idea in Viktor’s head that he wrote down on that piece of paper.

Viktor glances up, blinking.

He feels his cheeks heat, because he can’t exactly _tell_ Yuuri he’s looking for the plans he made for all the different cakes at their wedding, because that ruins the surprise, and mama said that it has to be a _surprise_ when you ask someone if they want to have a wedding with you, or ask someone to get married, or ask – _something,_ otherwise it’s not as fun, and Viktor needs it to be _especially_ _fun_ for Yuuri.

(Viktor only saw it on TV that one time and mama was a bit vague about what was happening but that’s the gist of what Viktor learned, because obviously Viktor stood up to go ask Yuuri right away right that second).

“Nothin!” He chirps, straightening. “I thought – I jus’ thought I forgot somethin’!” Viktor searches, and adds, “for ice skating!”

Yuuri frowns. “In your pocket?” He blinks.

_Oh_. Viktor freezes.

Maybe Yuuri won’t notice. Maybe if Viktor stays silent, pretending not to hear as he gathers his backpack, Yuuri won’t notice.

“What was it?” Yuuri asks.

He noticed.

“Um.” Viktor starts. He can’t think of anything. There’s a moment of silence, Yuuri waiting patiently with hands clasped.

“I forgot.” Viktor states.

_Oh boy_. Viktor’s never actually been so good at fibbing; once, when mama asked if he had taken two cookies instead of one – because there was only three left in the packet she had just bought – Viktor just blinked and didn’t speak for a full minute, going completely still in the hopes she might not notice him standing there.

Another time, Viktor bought Yuuri a very nice pair of skates, just because he saw them in the shop window and thought Yuuri would like them. Yuuri _did_ like them, that much Viktor could see, but he was also stubborn on not accepting them until he knew how much they cost. Viktor, totally lost and not actually wanting to admit he had used most of his birthday money, just shouted out, ‘a pound!’

So. Fibbing. He’s not too good at it, if he’s being all that honest.

Thankfully though, Yuuri doesn’t seem to notice, or at least realises Viktor’s fibbing but decides he doesn’t care all that much, because he just huffs and tips his head toward the door, basketball clutched in both hands. Viktor lifts his cap, ties up his hair up and loops the ponytail through the hole in the back, securing it on his head, before following Yuuri out into the backyard to play.

*

Viktor makes a new list.

It’s not as though he really _needs_ it, because there was only really cakes on the last one, but now that Viktor is eleven, he realises there’s a lot more to a wedding than just the types of cake.

For example; there’s what to wear, and where to get married, and whether to have the wedding indoors or outside, and if indoors then would it be a church or somewhere that would be alright with Yuuri and Viktor getting married, because Viktor really does think a big church with the coloured glass windows and standing at the alter as the special person announces you both married to be the perfect picture of a wedding, and then people would throw flower petals over them as the walk down the aisle hand-in-hand, but _also_ , if it was outdoors they could go someone else like Greece or Italy and get married on the beach beside the sea and run into the shore with the ends of their trousers rolled up, laughing and flicking water at one another, and then cut their three-tier cake with the smell of the ocean breeze and Yuuri’s big beam making his teeth glow white, his glasses reflecting the sun–

Viktor’s really not thought about it that much.

He is still only _eleven_ , really, and a wedding is for grown-ups. Plus, Viktor has never actually been to Italy or Greece, he’s only seen some pictures in geography class. So he’s not too worried about it all. These are just ideas.

It’s just good to be prepared and plan these things, is what Viktor thinks. In case Yuuri asks one day unexpectedly, and then Viktor can show him all the thoughts he’s been having about it. Yuuri gets nervous most of the time, and Viktor has a feeling Yuuri might not ask unless he’s _so so_ sure Viktor will say yes because Viktor has been thinking about it too, but the only way Yuuri could really be sure is if he _knows_ Viktor has been thinking about it, and the only way he could _know_ Viktor has been thinking about it is if he sees Viktor’s list.

So. Viktor is prepared, just in case.

*

Viktor is fourteen when he realises that a wedding might be a little different to what he had pictured all these years.

Because when Viktor had asked mama – the first time he’d learned about what a wedding was – why that woman was so happy on TV when the man knelt down to ask her if she wanted a ring, mama had laughed.

“No, sweetheart.” She chuckled, brushing his hair back. “That man is asking if she wants to get _married_ , and she’s very happy because that’s a very big honour.”

Viktor blinks, and sits up on the sofa. “What’s an horner?”

“ _Honour_.” Mama repeats. “Like a big compliment!”

Viktor tilts his head. “How come?” He blinks. He still doesn’t get it.

“Because to get married is very special. It’s when two people who love one another _very much_ , want to celebrate it with everyone and have a big party.”

Viktor perks up. “A party?” He sits up straighter.

Mama nods. “Yes, that’s called a _wedding_ , where two people who are getting married bring together their friends and family to celebrate how much they love one another, and promise that they’ll stay together forever. And then they’re married.”

Viktor jumps up off the sofa. “Can I have one!” He shouts.

Mama laughs again. “Who would you marry?”

Viktor frowns. “ _Yuuri_ , of course! I tell him we’ll stay together forever every single day, if it means I can have a party too, can I get married? Can I have a wedding? _Please_ , can I?”

He’s jumping around on the spot, but mama catches both his shoulders before he spins out of control and turns him around gently.

“Honey.” Her voice has changed; still soft, but more serious. “A wedding is a bit bigger than that. It’s a huge commitment. And you have to ask the other person if they want to marry you as well, and ask _very_ nicely. Getting down on one knee and offering them a nice ring is how everyone does it, because it’s _that_ big.” She widens her eyes a little. “You see?”

Viktor nods. He does, a little. “When can I ask Yuuri then?”

Mama huffs. “Not until you’re twenty, at least.”

“ _Twenty!”_ Viktor cries. That’s _ancient_.

It only makes her laugh harder, though.

But Viktor quickly realises that mam, or at least his interpretation of mam’s words, got it all wrong.

Because that’s not what a wedding is.

A wedding is what a couple have. A _romantic_ couple. Because he just watched a similar movie at the weekend, and the people who kissed when they were getting married were most _definitely_ a couple.

Viktor has always thought, and always _seen_ , that it’s a big huge party that you have with the person you love and want to stay with fore–

Viktor groans, and thunks his head on the lunch table.

Yuuko pauses in eating, because the sound of her crunching stops.

Phichit pokes the top of his head. “Oi.”

“Leave me.” Viktor muffles into his arms, and quietly adds _to die_ inside his own head.

Of course, it’s romantic.

Of _course_.

“What’s up?” Yuuko asks.

“I just realised something.” Viktor states.

Yuuri is studying in the library with some friends from his maths class (that Viktor has never met because he’s not in Yuuri’s class, but he still doesn’t know why Yuuri won’t just study with them _here_ ) for some pop quiz they have next period, and so Viktor feels safe enough to say, “I was going to ask Yuuri to marry me.”

There’s silence.

Viktor glances up, hair fluffing in the air with the moment, to find Yuuko gaping wide eyed, Phichit frozen with his panini in one hand.

“Has he finally realised?” Phichit asks Yuuko out the side of his mouth.

“Don’t.” Yuuko states. “I don’t trust it.”

Viktor glances between them. “What are you talking about?”

“What are _you_ talking about?” Phichit returns.

“I was going to ask Yuuri to marry me!” Viktor flails his arms around. “I was going to say 'Yuuri, hey, we should totally get married and have a wedding’, and only _just_   _now_ realised that it would be totally weird and freaky because getting married is only something _couples_ do, when I’ve always thought that you just did it with your best friend and got free cake!”

Viktor thunks his head on the table again, the full extent of his idiocy sweeping through him.

“Is he joking?” Phichit whispers.

“I think he’s being serious.”

“Stop – talking about me!” Viktor splutters, face turning various shades of purple as he lifts his head and glares. “Do you not realise how bad this is?”

Yuuko and Phichit blink in tandem.

Viktor just groans wordlessly, unable to explain just _how_ bad this is.

Because Viktor had _lists_. He made _plans_. Everything was _prepared_.

There was going to be cake, and possibly Italy, and an excuse to have a big party and maybe _then_ mam would let him have people stay over. He thought it was going to be awesome and amazing and Yuuri would _obviously_ say yes when Viktor showed him the lists, because –

Because Viktor thought that he could just _ask_ , is the thing; get down on one knee and say, _Yuuri, because you’re my mate, I want us to stay together forever_ –

Viktor feels his cheeks explode in heat, probably billowing steam at this point as smoke escapes out both sides of his ears.

How could he have been such an _idiot?_

Here he was, sat quietly with his tuna pasta pot, wondering what Yuuri was doing, and then wondering if Yuuri was wondering what _Viktor_ was doing, and _then_ wondering when Yuuri and Viktor will be able to spend lunch together, and then wondering when they’ll be able to spend _**all**_ their time together, and then thinking about their wedding–

Cold dread begins to worm its way into Viktor’s gut. Because if he can’t ask Yuuri to marry him, then who _is_ he supposed to ask? Who else could Viktor have a big party with?

The thought of having a wedding with someone else doesn’t seem as fun, suddenly; as if all the joy is sucked out of it, imaging running into the sea with some random, faceless stranger, or cutting cake, and none of Yuuri’s beams, and none of Yuuri’s glasses or that one strand of hair that flops over Yuuri’s hair –

And then cold dread turns into something else.

Because if it’s only something couples do, then who will Yuuri marry? _Who gets to marry Yuuri?_

Who gets to have a big wedding to celebrate their love to Yuuri, _with_ Yuuri, and cut their cake with him, and walk down the aisle with him – walk _up_ the aisle _towards_ him, knowing he’s there waiting, as he turns with a grin and his thick hair swept back and his brown skin glowing –

“Viktor, _Viktor_ –”

Viktor glances up quick at his name being called, and finds his friend’s faces staring at him.

“You okay? You’re breathing a bit heavy.” Yuuko asks gently, while Phichit pitches forward, concern written all over his expression.

There’s something else on their faces though, something like understanding, or maybe _sympathy_ , and Viktor feels as if he’s drowning underwater while a ten-tonne truck slowly passes through him with all the gentleness of a meteor rushing in.

Viktor glances to her, eyes wide, as if to say _help, help_ , but it feels as if he’s shouting those words inside his head, because that’s something that’ll happen, won’t it? It’s going to happen.

Yuuri will eventually marry someone.

Maybe Viktor will only be a guest. Maybe he won’t even get invited. Maybe it’ll be someone he’s never met. Maybe it’ll be someone from _math class_.

Powerlessness swarms him, like slowly losing sensation in each of his limbs. First his hands, and then it creeps up his feet, spreading to the centre to his chest.

“Viktor,” A voice calls. Viktor feels as if he knows it, and it tugs at him.

“ _Viktor_ ,” the voice grows nearer, and then warm hands wrap around his.

Viktor whips his head around, blinking blurry eyes only to find Yuuri crouching down to him.

“Viktor, I’m here.” Yuuri says, gentle, but Viktor can only stare, dumbfound, a rushing sound in his ears like the flood of the sea is pouring in.

“Viktor, it’s alright.” Yuuri swings a leg over and then he’s sat on the bench of their table, squeezing Viktor’s hands, bringing life back into them.

“Breathe with me.” Yuuri murmurs, voice as calm as the whoosh of rain during monsoon season, as cool as the feeling of water on his face, and then it’s suddenly not scary anymore.

Viktor takes a breath, and then abruptly notices how hard it is, despite the fact he’s done it all his life, but now he’s suddenly hyper-aware of it, which makes it _worse_ –

“Viktor.” Yuuri states, his voice a ground to the bottomless ocean Viktor finds himself in.

Yuuri takes one of Viktor’s hand and lifts it up to his neck, laying it flat across his throat.

Viktor can feel the steady, reassuring beat of Yuuri’s pulse, a warmth on the skin of his palm. Yuuri’s eyes are trained on him, his heartbeat slow, and Viktor finds himself unconsciously mirroring, his heartbeat receding in the backs of his ears and allowing all other sounds to filter in; the cafeteria, the voices, everyone whispering–

“Ignore it.” Yuuri murmurs, and leans forward so that their foreheads are pressed, his eyes still focused on Viktor.

Viktor exhales a shaky breath, but his hand is on the side of Yuuri’s throat, and his forehead is pressed to Yuuri’s, and everything is better.

“Can you walk?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor blinks, a little dumb, and then nods.

Yuuri stands, still holding one of his hands, and pulls him up.

Viktor follows blindly, unsure exactly what’s happening, or what _did_ happen, but Yuuri is walking at a steady pace toward the doors of the front entrance, not slowing down for anything.

He opens the door and the cold, fresh air hits Viktor’s face, pours into his lungs and fills up his body, and Viktor takes one long, glorious inhale before Yuuri just collides into his chest.

“Wh –” Viktor starts, stunned, but Yuuri’s arms are wrapped tight around his waist and clutching as hard as possible, squeezing with all their strength.

“Viktor I’m so sorry, I should have realised –” Yuuri babbles, voice high and reedy, so different to how he sounded moments ago.

“Hey, hey.” Viktor murmurs, and puts a hand on the back of Yuuri’s head, because he’s smaller, and probably always will be. “It’s not your fault.”

“But I could feel – I could feel you – I could feel  _it_ , getting worse and _worse_ and I was already coming back anyway but it was too _late_ and I was trying to run–”

“Yuuri.” Viktor pulls Yuuri away to look at his face. “It wasn’t your fault, okay? Sometimes, they just happen I guess. The same way it happens to you, okay? I was fine, and then I was just …” Viktor trails off, unsure of just _where_ exactly it happened. “It just _happened_.” He states.

And it’s the truth. Plus, Viktor has never really been able to lie to Yuuri. He probably never will be.

Because he knows, and he _feels_ , whenever Yuuri has an anxiety attack.

“You were the only one who helped.” Viktor confesses.

Yuuri laughs, a wet cough. “I just did what you did.”

Viktor blinks, and then realises that yeah, yeah he did.

Because no matter where Yuuri is, whatever time day or night, Viktor will find him, struggling to catch his breath, eyes wide and frightened, and Viktor will take Yuuri’s hand in his and put the other over his throat, stroking across Yuuri’s pulse point, and breathe slow and steady until Yuuri does the same.

Viktor leans down, pressing their foreheads. “Thank you.”

He’s a little stunned to find wet, hot tears gathering in Yuuri’s eyes. “ _Viktor_.” Yuuri croaks. “You shouldn’t – you’ve never – I was always _so glad_ you never had them, because they’re _horrid_ , but just now, the way – that _feeling_ , it felt like I would die if I didn’t get to you, but then you – you’ve never _said_ , or even mentioned how bad it was, you just – you just calmed me down, and made me tea, and gave me one of your shirts, and never _once_ –”

“Shh, shh.” Viktor, uncaring of the fact that they’re at school right now, pulls Yuuri into his arms, enveloping him in an embrace. “Yuuri, of _course_ I never said, it would only make you feel worse.”

That doesn’t seem to help. Yuuri muffles a sob into his chest.

Viktor laughs, and strokes the back of his head. “Don’t be so sad, I’m better now.” He tries. And truthfully, he _is_.

It was strange and a little scary, but it happened and its over now.

Kind of like a rickety roller coaster. At the time, all you want is off, _off, off._ But then once its over, you forget why exactly; it's not as though you would ever risk going back on, but you're relieved that you made it out alright.

Yuuri pulls back this time, cheeks a little red and blotchy. “What brought it on?” He asks.

Viktor opens his mouth, and tries to think of a reason, but before he needs to, Phichit and Yuuko appear.

“Viktor, are you okay?” Yuuko rushes up, holding – now Viktor sees – a tuna pasta pot. _His_ tuna pasta pot.

“We got your things and told the teacher you were signing out.” Phichit adds, Viktor’s backpack slung over his shoulder.

They don’t bat an eyelid at Yuuri and Viktor’s position, and yet Viktor and Yuuri jump back as if they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t have.

Yuuko squeezes his arm. “You can go home, by the way, we covered for you.”

Viktor feels something stick in his throat. “Thanks, guys.” He murmurs.

“Come back to mine.” Yuuri states.

Viktor blinks, stunned.

Yuuri’s face heats, colour pinkening the tips of his ears. “Just – come to mine, we’ll watch a movie and – I’ll make you some tea. Green tea!” His eyes brighten, that familiar spark coming back into his face and lighting him up. It makes Viktor feel lighter, too.

“Okay.” Viktor nods, grinning.

*

Yuuri fusses about the kitchen while Viktor settles on the sofa.

He’s sat on this sofa nearly a billion times, and yet it somehow feels different.

Viktor breathes, and lets the scent of Yuuri’s house surround him; basks in the warm-linen smell that clings to everything, the familiarity and the deep-rooted sense of home that pervades his senses.

Yuuri comes back in, holding two steaming mugs and a packet of biscuits under one arm.

“Drink.” He orders, and Viktor takes the mug from his hands with a smile, hidden behind the rim of the cup. He sips, sitting it down because it's still too hot.

Yuuri sits down beside him, his heat emanating in waves, the comforting steam from the green tea and the scent of Yuuri so close making Viktor’s head feel light, easing all the tension from his bones, as if all the stress and all his worry is melting from him and seeping down to the floor.

Viktor can never really explain Yuuri’s scent to anyone. Once he was asked by a curious classmate, _so_ _does his omega scent smell any different to other omega’s?_

Viktor had paused. Because he’s never really noticed any other Omega’s scents. He couldn’t even answer, because how could he? _Yuuri smells a bit like home when you haven’t been there all day, or like bed when you’re really tired and you’ve been skating so long your feet feel like two throbbing entities separate from you_.

It wouldn’t make any _sense_ , because while Yuuri does smell like those things, he also smells like a million other little things. Like – the first sun of winter, a bit like the scent of pine and crisp, wet rain in the nose that feels warm on your face. Or like the sheets hanging up on the washing line outside, flapping in the wind as Viktor and Yuuri run through them playing tag. Or like the hot scented-candles and the laughter filling up the room on Christmas Eve. Or even the ice and the chill of skating, the thrill of a new jump kick-starting Viktor’s heart every time. Or the smell of a rubber ball and the warm asphalt on his feet during the summer as they play together.

Yuuri smells like every good memory Viktor has ever had.

“Viktor?” Yuuri asks, jolting Viktor out of his daze.

Viktor blinks.

“What do you want to watch?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor is comfortable, and safe, and he suddenly feels so tired it’s as he could fall asleep within the next second.

Viktor shrugs, uncaring, and then lists to the side, falling sideways until his head finally hits Yuuri’s lap.

Yuuri is stiff, but Viktor hardly notices, his eyes slipping closed.

“Whatever you want.” He murmurs, settling to lie down.

Noise and colour flickers over the TV, and Viktor manages to peel an eye open to see Lord of The Rings come onto the screen.

Viktor grins, pressing it into one of Yuuri’s thighs. “How did you know?”

He feels Yuuri shrug, shifting his body up, and Viktor really loves that. He loves that he can feel all of Yuuri’s little reactions. “We re-watch it every year. We haven’t done it yet.”

Viktor grins wider, nuzzling into Yuuri’s legs. Something falls on top of his head, and Viktor blinks, eyes opening in surprise, before he feels Yuuri’s fingers card through his hair.

“Always – got it in such a _knot_.” Yuuri mutters, before loosening his hair tie and letting it slip free, both hands coming to bury in Viktor’s scalp.

Viktor feels a sigh escape, his hair that's pulled tight back in school finally allowed free. “It must give you some kind of headache.” Yuuri continues.

“‘S alright.” Viktor mumbles, feeling slightly drugged.

Viktor tries to keep his eyes open, but the familiar script of the movie, the voices of all the characters, coupled with Yuuri’s hands running through his hair, are a deadly combination.

“Do you remember when we stayed up all night to watch the whole trilogy?” Viktor slurs.

Viktor can feel as well as hear Yuuri chuckling above him. “There are only three movies!” Yuuri imitates Viktor’s voice when he was ten. “Wait, are they _all_ three hours long?”

“One of them is nearly four!” Viktor laughs. “Actually, isn’t it this one?”

Upside down, Viktor watches Yuuri’s face crinkled in laughter, eyes squinting in his glasses, warmth radiating throughout that strange, tremulous thread between them, linking them together, and feels such a rush of contented _happiness,_ it practically blinds him.

“Harry Potter was a different matter altogether.” Yuuri laughs.

“Oh, that.” Viktor wriggles around so the back of his head is resting across Yuuri’s thighs, looking up. “That was just sheer idiocy–”

“There’s like, seven movies –”

“ _Eight!”_ Viktor cries, and Yuuri laughs harder.

“Why did we think we could marathon that in one night?”

“History repeats itself.” Viktor states gravely, and Yuuri shakes his head, wheezing.

“I swear, Yuuri, I fell asleep and had like, the weirdest dreams about dragons and Voldemort and then I woke up and it was still playing on the TV –”

Yuuri keens.

“Because we had basically _passed out,_ and it felt like I had entered another _dimension_.”

“I still – I still can’t believe you’re Ravenclaw.” Yuuri wheezes.

“ _You’re_ Hufflepuff!” Viktor cries.

“Hufflepuff isn’t that bad! We’re the good guys! _Ravenclaw_ –”

“Those questions were so biased.” Viktor states. “It’s like; where would you most likely be found at night, the library or the forbidden forest, like _mm_ let me think –”

“Or the _kitchens_!” Yuuri laughs.

“At night!” Viktor says. “What can you do in the kitchens at _night?”_

“Eat!”

“Bu –” Viktor flails his hands around, but it quickly dissolves into laughter again.

“Some of them were so obvious, I mean wasn’t one ‘what would you do if you found someone cheating in an exam, tell the teacher or give them a high-five’? _Really?”_ Yuuri’s face scrunches up exaggeratedly.

Viktor laughs, reaching up to pat the side of Yuuri’s face. “Such a little Hufflepuff.”

He resists the urge to say, _my little Hufflepuff._

Yuuri sticks his tongue out, but his eyes are warm, looking down at Viktor. “Our houses are supposed to be enemies, aren’t they?” He says, his voice soft.

Viktor stills, confused. His hand falls. He swallows, throat a little tight.

“Suppose they got that part wrong.” Yuuri says. He glances up to the TV seen, expression impassive, but Viktor can tell he’s embarrassed about saying that, the tip of his nose slowly turning red.

Viktor smiles. He shifts around on Yuuri’s lap, turning his head away from the TV in order to press his face into Yuuri’s stomach, nuzzle into the soft material of his black school jumper that he still hasn’t changed out of.

Another rush of feeling hits Viktor then, but it’s more like pained fondness this time, as if it hurts just how endearing Yuuri is.

Usually, whenever Yuuri does something particularly cute or sweet or kind, like tie Viktor’s hair up for him sometimes while he’s studying and it’s falling into his face, or lean over to help Viktor by pointing to the page, Viktor is overcome with the urge to pinch his cheek or pick him up just because of how _adorable_ he is.

But there’s a bitter edge to the feeling now. Viktor notices it in the same way you notice a sharp bang to the elbow. It’s sudden, and startling, and _strange_.

Only then, only in that one moment, it feels both bad and good somehow.

Viktor shuffles around and moves his arms to wrap around to Yuuri’s waist, squeezing tight.

“Viktor?” Yuuri asks, unsure. His hand falls on top of Viktor’s head again.

Viktor pretends not to hear. He presses his face deeper into Yuuri’s abdomen, and thinks, _please don’t marry anyone anytime soon._


	2. the distance between lunch tables

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So this chapter ends up being longer than last one and *also* makes this update now the longest in the entire series, ahhhh apologies my hands got too carried away XD
> 
> Also, this chapter is inspired by Lalaasl and puppyfacetwo's comments and prompts, I really loved them! I tried to incorporate cute fluffy sleepovers with Yuuri talking in his sleep, and also Viktor just being a gentleman and carrying Yuuri's things and being a Good Boyfriend

 

 

 

> _Oh, woe, woe is me_
> 
> _The last time that you touched me_
> 
> _Oh, will wonders ever cease?_
> 
> _Blessed be the mystery of love_
> 
> _\- The Mystery of Love, Sufjan Stevens_

 

 _“Papa!”_ Viktor whines, clutching at papa’s sleeve and pulling, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference, no matter how hard or long Viktor pulls. He’s nearly being dragged across the ground because he’s leaning to the side so hard.

Papa is too strong, though. “Viktor, papa is tired.” He says as he collapses by a nearby bench.

“PLAY!” Viktor cries, and stomps a small foot.

Papa rubs his face. “ _Vitya_ , I’m –” he begins, gesturing down at himself, his work shirt rumpled and creased, tie askew around his neck, before he’s pointing somewhere further away. “Look, look – there’s the swings, they’re your favourite, why don’t you go play on them?”

Viktor puts harder. “I don’t want to play _alone_ ,” he whines, “I don’ _know_ any’odie here!”

“I told you, Viktor, remember, it’s only for an hour.” Papa reminds him, and tousles his long hair, tucking a piece away from his face. “One hour. Just until the new boiler is installed, and then we’ll go home. We’ve been kicked out for now, though.” He huffs, and bends down so he’s looking into Viktor’s eyes. “I want to go home just as much as you.”

Viktor huffs, crossing his arms.

“I’m sure you could go up to someone and ask to be friends.” Papa murmurs, leaning back on the bench and closing his eyes for a moment. “You’ve never any issues with that.”

Viktor looks around the park.

It’s mostly empty at the moment. School has just finished, so it should be _packed_ with people to play with, but it’s only a small park, and its also not Viktor’s regular park, so anybody he _would_ have played with won’t _be_ here anyways.

There are only a few little girls playing by the swings, and Viktor can hardly go up to _them_ and ask to play, because they’re girls, and that would be weird.

Just as Viktor is about to really give up, he spots a boy, sitting in the sandpit by himself.

His head is bowed, playing with the sand as the runs a bucket along and gathers some before dunking it back into the pit.

He’s sat crossed-legged, wearing large, clunky glasses that look a little too big for him and fall down at the nose. He keeps having to push them back up with a hand every few seconds. He’s wearing a school uniform too, although it’s one Viktor doesn’t recognise, the school tie colours different to his.

He looks as lonely as Viktor.

And he’s got nobody to play with. Viktor wonders how long he’s been sat there.

And Viktor is _tired_. He wants to go _home_ , and have a _nap_ , but they’re not allowed back home for some reason to do with a boiler, and so Viktor marches over and plops himself down in the sandpit.

The boy looks up.

His eyes are larger this close, as if they’ve been made bigger by his glasses like a magnifying scope. They’re warm, and brown, and staring up at him expectantly.

Viktor suddenly doesn’t know what to say.

 _Hi!_ Is what he had planned. _Do you want to play?_

But the boy’s face makes him pause, freeze up as if he’s been asked to read out in class again.

The boy turns back to his bucket once Viktor doesn’t say anything.

And that’s not right.

Because the boy turns away as if he hadn’t really expected Viktor to say anything anyways, as if Viktor _couldn’t_ have been coming up to say hi to him. As if Viktor has just come by accident, and doesn’t actually want to talk to him.

Viktor wants to say ‘hi’ now more than ever. But his throat is all stuffy and thick as if he’s got a cold.

Viktor starts playing with the sand, running it through his fingers and along the ground, before he just gives up and falls down on his back, sighing a long sigh because he wants to say _something_ but he doesn’t know _what_ and he can’t–

“Wot you doin’?”

Viktor whips his head up.

*

Sometimes, Viktor thinks about that day.

About how it was just chance that the boiler was being fitted then. About how it was justcoincidence that Yuuri just happened to be playing in the park at the exact same time. About the fact that pap took him to the _exact_ same park as Yuuri. About the fact Viktor decided to go over to him after pap just so happened to be too tired to play with.

And most of all, Viktor thinks about the fact that he couldn’t speak. And probably wouldn’t have spoken – or at least, been the first one to speak.

And about how _Yuuri_ was the first, in the end. How he decided to brave it all and ask Viktor what he was doing.

Viktor sometimes wonders what would have happened if all _that_ hadn’t happened. If all the stars hadn’t aligned and every single accident and every little coincidence hadn’t slotted into place and shoved Viktor and Yuuri together.

Wonders if he and Yuuri would have met in primary – well, unlikely, because they didn’t go to the same one to start with.

Would they have gone to the same Junior High? Again, the only reason they went to the same one in the first place was because they both _demanded_ to, and both their parents found one they could go to because they knew about their natures. Maybe they would’ve met in high school?

Would it have been different, if they had met in highschool? Would their relationship somehow be different – not steeped in childhood memories; old rituals and their own weird, crazy traditions of pillow forts, movie marathons, and each only eating one colour of M&M before sharing the rest?

Maybe they would have met on the stage, on the ice. As adults; as already fully formed people. At the Olympics, or at an ice-skating tournament, or on the set of a movie, or doing _whatever_ it is they both decide to do when they grow up.

Would they have looked at one another, and _known_ , and felt – _acutely_ _felt_ – everything they had missed in being without one another for all their lives?

Viktor knows his life would be different. Without Yuuri there, without Yuuri’s humour and his jokes, his comfort and his support – all the advice and all the warmth he’s offered Viktor over these years that Viktor has been alive.

Viktor knows he would be a different person.

And he knows Yuuri would be too.

Shyer, more in-drawn. Maybe a little more academic; he probably would have given up ice-skating a long time ago, without Viktor’s unwavering support to guide him every time he failed. He would probably be head of the class, in every single class. But he might also be a little more self-conscious, find it harder to talk to people. He would probably suffer his panic attacks, alone, in the dark. He probably wouldn’t have told anybody about them, without Viktor’s insistence that his parents would want to know, and would support him through it.

And that’s where Viktor stops wondering.

Because it doesn’t really matter how it would’ve impacted Viktor; how conceited and arrogant Viktor would have grown from all the confessions and all the gifts, all the praise and worship and popularity, or how truly insecure he would be, never having heard a real word of his own worth in his entire life, other than from his parents.

Or how ultimately empty he would be, without Yuuri. How something would be missing, and Viktor wouldn’t even notice it missing until he found Yuuri and realised.

No. None of that matters.

The only thing that matters is how it would have impacted Yuuri, and the thought that Yuuri would have most likely been more unhappy; more introverted, more uncomfortable in public, and more prone to attacks, is where Viktor stops thinking about all the if’s. No more if’s, no more but’s.

Whatever fate was at play that day, whatever stars slotted together, tugged the strings of chance and toppled them into one another, Viktor is glad of them.

Viktor is glad of that day in the park. It might’ve been small, and short, but it was the most significant day of his life.

He’s still figuring out _how_ it’s the most significant, and what it is that makes Yuuri Katsuki so significant in the first place, and he supposes he’ll always be trying to figure out what it is that makes a person like Yuuri Katsuki mates with Viktor Nikiforov, but either way.

Viktor is glad.

*

As a rule of thumb, Viktor and Yuuri have a sleepover once a week.

They alternate between one another’s houses, but that’s not the part that matters. The part that matters is that it happens once a week. Because it _has_ to happen once a week.

If it doesn’t, their scents will fade.

‘Scent-marking’. It’s what all the adults call it.

When you have close friends and family, there’s this long-buried instinct to mark them as yours; but – Viktor doesn’t really know, he’s pretty sketchy on the details – not as if they _belong_ to you, or they become your possession in any way, but as if _you_ are somehow a part of _them_.

It makes a lot more sense if Viktor doesn’t have to think about it.

Because it’s happened before, when Viktor has caught a whiff of his own scent on Yuuko or Phichit, just faint, just inter-mingled with their own, and he’s felt a swell of contented pride and a sense of warmth.

To Viktor; he hadn’t even noticed or even been _aware_ of scent-marking them, but rubbing up against their arms in the hallways, ruffling their hair and nudging their shoulders, were clear indicators that he actually _was_ , once he thought about it.

But it gave him the same feeling he gets on walking through the front doors of his house; on entering into the scents of cooking food and low-lit candles and freshly washed clothes and _home_. And so, Viktor didn’t really want to stop.

Plus, if he really thought about it, Phichit and Yuuko always reciprocated in kind; they also tousled his long hair, or lay their head on his shoulder during lunch, or hooked a chin on top of his head as he was studying. It’s just instinct; nature. _Pack_ , Viktor supposes.

And everytime he sees his mam or his pap, he’s always eager to rub his nose against their warm chest in greeting; always impatient to press up into their familiar, soft scents. Viktor might be an Alpha, but that doesn’t mean he’s immune to wanting comfort.

It doesn’t mean that sometimes he won’t want anything more than to be bundled inside all the scents of all the people he knows and loves.

He knows the stereotype of an Omega is a clingy, co-dependant nuisance, and all the other boys in the locker room joke – whenever someone winces about a bruise they got out in the field or a particularly rough tackle –   _don’t be an Omega_. Don’t be weak. Viktor huffs and tries a smile, but he never replies.

Because Omega’s aren’t like that at all. The only two Omega’s Viktor knows are his mam and Yuuri; and the one thing he knows about them is that they’re strong. They’re the strongest two people he knows, and the kindest, and most definitely, completely, _not_ a nuisance.

Alphas are strong; strong-willed and strong-bodied. They’re tough, determined, and yet sometimes, Viktor can be weak too, and sometimes he doesn’t really know where the lines begin between Omega and Alpha; where they start and where end, where the begin to bleed into one another.

Yuuri’s scent, however, is different.

Viktor can’t really tell if he scent-marks Yuuri or not, because it’s just a given that Yuuri will smell like Viktor. Even if they haven’t seen one another in days; even if they’ve both had multiple showers within that time and been all sorts of different places, whenever they come together again, it’s still there — that lingering scent of Viktor beneath Yuuri’s exuding warmth, that dim hint of Viktor’s scents: Viktor’s shampoo, his soaps, his laundry detergent and his sweat – the million and one other scents that make up Viktor Nikiforov.

It’s as if all his scents have seeped inside Yuuri: bled underneath his skin to find a home within his bones. No matter how long they’re parted, or how far apart they are, something of the other remains.

They’ll never stop smelling of one another.

In saying that, though, Viktor still needs Yuuri. Still needs to scent him; hold him, touch him. It sounds silly and ridiculous, but although Viktor knows that nothing could erase his scent from Yuuri, knows that their years spent growing up together has ensured that they’re basically a part of one another, Viktor still needs the confirmation, otherwise it feels as if something restless has squirmed its way into his gut and won’t cease until he sees Yuuri again.

It was worse when they were younger, Viktor knows. They never knew what the feeling was, or how to stop it. Viktor knows they used to cry and _cry_ , their instincts aching for one another. But now that they’re older, Viktor knows that it’s their natures, the fact that they’re mates and can’t be parted for long, that’s the thing to twist and turn their insides. And he knows how to stop it now, cut it in its tracks.

And it’s this, as simple and sweet as one thing: seeing Yuuri.

It’s true, since starting Junior High, it feels as if they have less time for one another. Yes, Viktor joined the soccer team and he has matches and away-day games and camp trips and yes, Yuuri also joined the math club and now also goes to competitions and holds study sessions in the library and sometimes it can feel as if they’re drifting apart from one another, as if their high school careers are going in two totally opposite directions.

Because while Yuuri sits with all the studious people, top of the class and set to become the next world leaders, Viktor is also obliged to say hello and goodbye in the hallways to the soccer guys and their ‘jock’ rugby friends and then he’s inevitably enrolled into their parties and to hang out at lunch and he can’t say no, it’s not as if he _could_ say no, but it’s not as if he also wants to say _yes_ –

Because sometimes Viktor casts glances over at the math table, or the science table, or whichever table he finds Yuuri at, head bowed and hand flying across a page, and feels a sharp, resounding pang just below his breastbone, an ache in his feet that just want to turn, stride across the space between them and sit down, watch Yuuri glance up in surprise, his glasses a little askew and that cute way he bites his bottom lip when he’s concentrating–

And then Chris will clap him across the shoulder, grinning wide, tipping his head outside to go get some food.

‘ _Chris_ Giacometti?’ _Yuuri gaped, the first time he heard._

_Viktor nodded and laughed. ‘Yeah, he’s on the soccer team too! I wouldn’t have thought it either, but he’s really nice. He was at our primary before he went to America for a while, remember?’_

_Yuuri grumbled and huffed, but otherwise said nothing else._

_“He’s also …” Yuuri mumbled, a while after._

_Viktor blinked. “Mm?”_

_“He’s also –_ gay _, isn’t he?”_

_Viktor frowned. “Yeah?”_

_Yuuri blushed beetroot, which Viktor decidedly decided was_ not _cute. “Not! That there’s anything wrong! With that! I just – thought maybe you didn’t know, that’s all!”_

_“Why wouldn’t I know?” Viktor frowned. “Everyone knows.”_

_Yuuri swallowed. “Cool.” He nodded. “That’s cool.”_

_And that was that._

So Viktor turns away from Yuuri’s lunch-table and follows the rest of the team out, and ignores the ache in his gut that only sharpens the further he walks away.

 _Sleepover_ , Viktor keeps up the running mantra in his head. They still have their sleepover.

*

So of course, when the time actually comes, Viktor feels as nervous as a twelve-year-old.

He sidles up to Yuuri after school while Yuuri is unpacking his rucksack, black hair flopping over his forehead, glasses slipping down his nose as he ducks his head, searching through his bag trying to find that one specific folder he wants to put in.

Viktor wonders what Yuuri would do if he walked up; crossed the spaces between them and pressed his nose to the side of Yuuri’s head. Smiled, said, _I missed you_.

If Viktor wrapped arms around Yuuri sideways and held him close.

Or even something simpler. Wonders what Yuuri would do if Viktor appeared behind him, buzzed him in the sides, startled him. Wonders if Yuuri would turn with a smile, his eyes crinkled at the sides behind those glasses. Wonders if Yuuri would tip his head back, or clutch at his chest, shaking with laughter and surprise.

Viktor wonders more if Yuuri would be annoyed if he did that, though. If Viktor creeped up and stuck his nose into Yuuri’s personal space. Tickled him in the middle of school.

Yuuri would most probably blush; stammer and flail his arms about.

He’d be embarrassed. Viktor knows it would embarrass Yuuri.

Viktor doesn’t really know what happened between the time when Yuuri and Viktor would rush to one another after being parted – no matter how small the amount time was – enveloping one another and spinning around in laughter before falling to the ground, and right now, when Viktor doing such a thing would cause Yuuri to melt into a puddle of mortification and not speak to him for a whole week.

Maybe they really _are_ older now. Maybe this is what it means to be older, to grow up.

For some reason, Viktor thought they would stay the same way they’ve always been. He figured nothing would change when they went from Primary to Junior High, Junior High to High School. As they grew from six to sixteen, as they fell in and out and gained a little height and a little weight here and there. He was sure they would always be the same.

Something makes him unsure, now. Viktor can’t really place it. Maybe it’s the distance that’s wedged itself between their lunch tables, between their social circles. The distance that stands between them right now as Viktor watches Yuuri at his locker instead of just going over to him.

The distance that feels as if its widening and widening, with Viktor powerless to stop it. There’s no thread, nothing holding him centred, nothing _keeping_ him to Yuuri.

He’s just standing adrift in the middle of a high school, and one day he’ll reach out a hand and only meet empty air.

One day he’ll reach out and see nothing at all.

Viktor swallows, clenches his jaw, and strides across to Yuuri.

“Hi.” He says. His voice comes out louder than intended.

Yuuri jerks, his bag hanging off one shoulder and both hands buried inside. “Oh.” He says, startled, making his bag slip.

Viktor catches the bottom easily with a flat palm. “Ready?” He smiles.

Yuuri flushes, just a light thing gracing the tips of his ears. Despite his warm brown skin, it always shows. Viktor loves that. “Yeah. Sure. Ready.”

The tightness around Viktor’s ribcage eases, a rope loosening its hold. It still leaves a rope burn though, a memory of the pain.

“Um. Who’s is it? Mine or yours?” Yuuri asks, blinking wide brown eyes.

It takes a second for Viktor to reply. “Uh. Yours.” He answers, automatic. He always wants to go to Yuuri’s.

Yuuri nods. “Okay. Just –” he’s _still_ unloading the content his rucksack into his locker, despite the fact that Viktor had been watching him going on a five full minutes now.

Viktor takes Yuuri’s bag from his shoulder and slings it over his own. “Come on.” He says, chipper.

Yuuri is still blushing. “ _Viktor_. Give me my bag.”

Viktor straightens up to his full height, which, _delightfully_ , is still serval inches taller than Yuuri, and out of reach.

Yuuri tries to reach up, his fingers just brushing Viktor’s shoulder, and Viktor ignores the sharp little spike of feeling that gives him, grins wider.

Yuuri sighs, his hand falling in defeat, seemingly realising that in order to get his backpack _back_ , he would really have to fight Viktor for it, and that would cause a scene in the middle of school, and that would be _very unseemly_ , so.

Viktor can read Yuuri like a kid’s book. Even a picture is enough to know what Yuuri is thinking.

Yuuri looks up at him through his bangs, gives him – what Viktor thinks is an attempt at – a murderous glare, and huffs. “Right. Come on then.”

Viktor, truthfully, receives a few looks as he’s walking along with two bags slung across his shoulder, and Yuuri with none. Yuuri blushes and stammers and fumbles over his own two feet, holding one of his own arms and squeezing his bicep nervously.

But it makes Viktor swell with pride. He’s carrying Yuuri’s things. _Yuuri Katsuki’s_ things.

“I can take it now.” Yuuri insists, tugging at the strap, but he has to walk on tiptoes in order to do so.

Viktor ruffles his hair, grinning wide. “ _Yuuri_. It’s fine. It weighs nothing. You can unload all your stuff out when we get home.”

Yuuri’s eyebrows rise a fraction at Viktor referencing Yuuri’s house as ‘home’, but thankfully he doesn’t mention it.

Slip of the tongue. Yuuri knew what Viktor meant.

Yuuri sighs, a true defeat, and Viktor smiles and drapes an arm across his shoulders.

He does that sometimes as they’re walking together, or in the hallways, or when they’re sitting at the lunch table, or – _anytime_ , really. It’s become natural, instinct. It feels strange if Viktor _doesn’t_ do it.

As always, Yuuri relaxes underneath his touch, his shoulders releasing most of their pent-up tension, and Viktor reels him in closer with his arm so Yuuri’s hair brushes his nostrils on every step.

And that’s how they walk.

*

When they arrive at Yuuri’s, they enter into the smells of cooking food and warmth and _home_.

Viktor inhales deep, as he always does whenever he steps through the front door to Yuuri’s house, and finds Hiroko in the kitchen, immediately crossing over to her and kissing her check, a light peck that makes her laugh.

“Hello boys.” She grins, and turns to Yuuri as he grumbles and huffs but ultimately accepts the ruffle of his hair and the stroke of her thumb across his face, as if rubbing away a smudge mark. A mother’s instinct, like ritual, Viktor supposes.

“You staying over?” She asks.

“Mm!” Viktor hums the affirmative.

“Good. I’ve made stew.” She smiles.

They unload in Yuuri’s room, which looks no different to how it looked two weeks ago, but somehow _feels_ different.

Yuuri pulls out a drawer and stuffs some jotters inside, and Viktor catches a flash of balled-up briefs.

Viktor feels his entire head go too hot, too fast, the salvia in his mouth running dry, leaving his throat tight and constricted.

He wasn’t looking. He just glimpsed it by accident. It was an accident.

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri asks, clearly noticing. Yuuri notices everything.

Viktor shakes his head. “Nothing.” He says.

Yuuri is still puttering about with his things, and so Viktor clears his throat a little awkwardly, looking down at his thumbs as he picks at some skin around his nail.

“Yuuri.” Viktor begins.

Yuuri glances up.

“Can we. Um.” Viktor clears his throat again. “Can we scent mark again?”

Yuuri blinks, eyebrows raising. “Oh, you – now?” He asks.

“Is that okay?” Viktor glances down again. “It’s fine if you don’t want –”

“No, it’s fine.” Yuuri assures, coming closer. “It was getting quite long, anyways.”

Viktor swallows, and nods. They haven’t done this in a few weeks – nearly a month, if Viktor is right.

It began as something Dr Yakov encouraged them to try, to adjust and calm their natures when they moved into Junior High and avoid as much disruption as possible –something to do with hormone levels and natural development – but now it’s just become routine.

“Do you want to do it on my bed again?” Yuuri asks innocently.

For some reason, that question makes Viktor flush throughout his whole body. _Last_ time, and the time before that, and all the other times, it hasn’t made Viktor embarrassed.

_What is this? Is this normal?_

_Why are my palms so sweaty? Why do I suddenly want to hide away?_

“Viktor?” Yuuri asks, tilting his head.

“Mm? Yeah!” Viktor stands quickly, and crosses over to Yuuri’s bed.

And lies down.

And then Yuuri lies down beside him, presses a nose into his throat, the length of his body flush to Viktor’s, and.

That’s it.

That’s all there is to it.

Yuuri lifts a hand and places it over Viktor’s chest. “Your heart is racing.” He murmurs, and lifts his head.

It’s so close to Viktor’s. It suddenly seems so, _too_ , dangerously close. Yuuri’s breath exhales over Viktor’s cheek. His lips are parted, the front row of his teeth peeking through.

“Um.”

“Are you alright?” Yuuri asks, a slight frown appearing on his face, and then that hand comes up over Viktor’s forehead.

Viktor is going to die.

“You feel a bit warm.” Yuuri murmurs. “Are you coming down with something?”

Weddings. Parks. Yuuri’s glasses. Holding Yuuri’s bag. Missing Yuuri. Scenting Yuuri. _Arms around Yuuri’s waist, nose pressed into the side of Yuuri’s head._

**_ Yuuri. _ **

How could Viktor have been so stupid?

Of course.

_Of course._

He’s–

“Viktor?” Yuuri sits up straight. “Are you sure you’re okay –”

“I’m fine! I’m _fine_ , honestly, I just – stress.” Viktor fumbles. “It's just – practise, and homework –”

Yuuri huffs, and slides down again, an arm coming to rest on Viktor’s chest again as his nose presses into the soft spot of Viktor’s jugular, just below his scent glands, and huffs a short exhale. “I told you before Viktor, if you need any help, I can do –”

“Yuuri.” Viktor starts, and tightens his own arm around Yuuri. “You’re not doing my homework. And don’t do it for anyone else. Okay? And if they ask, just send them to me.”

Yuuri chuckles softly. “Okay, Mr. Alpha.”

Viktor feels himself flush harder.

Yuuri pauses. “Sorry, I didn’t mean –”

“It’s alright. It’s true. I’m.” Viktor stutters. “I’m your Alpha, Yuuri. You’re my pack. So, I’ll protect you. In school, and anywhere else.”

Yuuri is quiet for a few moments.

Viktor nudges him with a shoulder, jostling his heavy head.

“Mm? Sorry, yeah.” He answers sleepily.

Viktor chuckles. “You falling asleep?”

Yuuri doesn’t reply. “Mm. S’ good.”

Viktor frowns. “What?”

“S’ a’ smph. Hm.” Yuuri mumbles, and then he’s out.

Viktor feels the moment Yuuri falls asleep. All his bones go loose, all the tension drains away, the residual stiffness Viktor hadn’t even noticed. He shuffles closer, as close as possible, in order to press his entire face into Viktor’s throat, his mouth brushing the skin of Viktor’s throat on every little inhale and exhale, as it pushes Yuuri closer with the way Viktor’s shoulders rise.

Viktor is stiff-straight, eyes wide open, with the realisation that he has a crush on Yuuri.

Of _course_ he’s crushing on Yuuri.

Who _else_ would be crushing on?

But how could it have possibly _slipped his notice?_ It’s not as if Viktor has any issues with liking other boys – truthfully, the first time that Viktor realised he’s never _actually_ been attracted to a girl was a little bit of a warning signal – but, all this time?

How long? How long has he had a crush on Yuuri?

Can someone even have a crush on another person without their awareness and against their will?

Viktor is sure that isn’t how they work.

He’s heard other people talking about crushes, and how they never stop thinking about them, and obsessively follow them, and –

And sure, Viktor might _also_ do all those things, but he doesn’t do them _deliberately_ , whereas the girls at lunch sit with their magazines spread out, gushing over the latest actor in the newest movie, and seem to very deliberately chose to crush on that person, even going so far as to learn the most pointless facts about them and desperately scramble for ways they’re both similar.

But.

It’s undeniable.

When Yuuri lifted his head, in that very moment, Viktor’s heart was every cliché that has ever existed – _dokidoki_ and all. It leaped, it flew, it burst – god, it might as well have _exploded_.

Yuuri’s eyes, so warm and calm without his glasses, are melted pools of hot chocolate – or some other colourful description, but when the sun shone into Yuuri’s bedroom curtains and lit them up for a few seconds, they were too beautiful to put into words.

Viktor has never been so good with words anyway – with describing Yuuri’s soft breath, the crooked slant of his nose.

 _HOW_ is he only realising now?

“Mmph– tor.” Yuuri mumbles.

Viktor blinks.

He’s frozen.

“S’m.” Yuuri huffs, mouth opening on Viktor’s throat, gusting more hot air.

Viktor shivers, spikes of sensation shooting up his spine at that. He squeezes his eyes closed, scrunching up his face and willing himself to ignore it.

But then Yuuri whimpers, a real whine.

“Ictor.” He grunts, clearer.

Viktor feels his eyes widening, his jaw slack. Is _Yuuri_ – is he saying –

“Vik-or.” Yuuri breathes out.

Viktor doesn’t move.

“Mm- _o_.” Yuuri twists in his sleep, and his knees draw up as he attempts to curl in on himself.

“Yuuri?” Viktor whispers.

Is Yuuri having a bad dream? About Viktor?

Yuuri whimpers again.

 _Definitely_ a bad dream.

“Yuuri.” Viktor hates to jostle him, but he places a hand on his shoulder and shakes it a little.

Yuuri whines a little more, trying to curl away from the hand.

Viktor currently hates whatever it is that dream-him is doing.

It feels as if he’s inflicting some kind of pain on Yuuri, with the way Yuuri is trying to twist and turn, as if to escape.

His feet twitch, kicking out, and then Viktor realises –

It feels as if Yuuri is trying to _run_.

Is Viktor chasing him in his dream?

 _“Vik-oor.”_ Yuuri mewls again, his voice sluggish and slurred, but as distinctive and clear as if he were awake.

Has Yuuri always talked in his sleep? Maybe Viktor has never noticed, being asleep himself whenever they’ve had any sleepovers.

“Yuuri.” Viktor murmurs. “Yuuri, it’s alright. I’m here.” Trying to wake up Yuuri is not working, no matter how Viktor jostles and gently nudges him.

It’s only when Viktor moves onto his side and wraps an arm around Yuuri, re-adjusting them, that Yuuri settles.

He stops all movement; body growing lax again.

Viktor blinks, and shifts his arm so he’s loosely embracing Yuuri.

Yuuri sighs, the furrow lines in his features smoothing out, and shuffles closer to Viktor again.

Viktor, helpless, finds himself smiling. He strokes a hand up and down Yuuri’s back, slowly, a gentle movement.

“I’m here.” He murmurs again, softly into the shell of Yuuri’s ear.

Viktor doesn’t remember falling asleep.

*

Viktor wakes to a sharply in-drawn breath, then a snort, and then Yuuri’s disarrayed hair, his sleep-addled eyes, thick voice saying, “Viktor?”

Viktor whips his head up.

“Viktor!” Yuuri starts louder, suddenly realising their positions – Viktor sprawled across Yuuri, and Yuuri’s hands wrapped around Viktor’s waist.

Their shirts have ridden up during their nap, and some sections of their bare skin is pressed to one another.

Viktor bolts upright. “Yuuri! You – I – you fell asleep! I –”

“Viktor!”

Viktor, in his haste and scramble to assure Yuuri of his purity, manages to capsize and topple right out of bed.

“Vik –” Yuuri’s head appears over the edge of the bed, where Viktor is currently star-fished out across the floor, totally dazed and utterly betrayed by the entire world.

“Vi –” Yuuri starts, before he can’t contain it, and then he bursts out laughing.

Viktor blinks, appalled, as Yuuri throws his head back and laughs: the laughter the loudest and deepest Viktor has ever heard it.

“Yuuri!” Viktor cries, outraged, but it only makes Yuuri laugh harder.

And then Viktor feels the corners of his mouth tugging, a beam splitting across his face, because that sound has always been infectious.

“I hate –” Viktor gets as far, before he feels himself falling to laughter as well.

“I’m sorry, I’m so – you looked so confused, and your _hair_ –” Yuuri keens high, practically wheezing now, and water begins to gather at the sides of his eyes with the force. His hair is utterly flat on one side and a total mess, cheeks sleep-lined, and he’s grinning wide and happy and –

Maybe nothing needs to change, between them. Maybe things will always stay the same, no matter how much things change for Viktor.

Because Viktor allows himself to laugh too, and it doesn’t feel any differently to the way it did before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired largely by [ The Mystery of Love ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DCsyocpQyok&index=1&list=FLOJVgLZdQuB6dQJnrXuET4Q&t=0s).
> 
> I was wondering whether to make a playlist for this series, either on Spotify or YouTube as there are a few songs I listen to when writing, but it's up to you!! Would it be something you would want to listen to?
> 
> I am also planning another chapter to this fic, it is already very long but there is ! too ! much ! I ! want ! to ! say ! about Viktor's realising his feelings and finally discovering his sexuality and—


	3. suits and bow-ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wants Yuuri to be happy, and even though the idea of Yuuri looking at someone the way he does a bowl of Katsudon makes something twist sharp and painful inside Viktor, if it made Yuuri happy – really, truly happy, as happy as Hana as she walked down the aisle, if it made him laugh and smile and be happy, Viktor knows in time, he’d want that.
> 
>  _I want him to be mine ___, some deep, dark part of Viktor whispers. But it’s overpowered by, _I want him to **want ******to be mine. ___  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!!!! An end to this one!!! I know I left this work completed after each chapter as each instalment is kind of completed in it's own sense, but this is the final chapter to Realisations. A gift for KamRaeTay, who is the loveliest commenter and also a lovely beta!!! I really hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, this might seem overzealous of me, but in case anyone missed it, I also updated this series with [ another instalment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15369570) just last week, but managed to post it without including it in the series for a few hours, so when I did I still wasn't sure if AO3 was glitching but a few people told me they didn't get an email notification for the series and stumbled upon it accidentally, so it's there if you did miss!!!!
> 
> Again, thanks for all the support. It will always mean so much <33

So, Viktor ignores it for a while.

He doesn’t think about it that much unless he can help it: simply brushes it aside and to the back of his mind.

It’s easier that way.

Because Viktor doesn’t want to think about it, because then it’ll become clear he’s thinking about it, and Yuuri will frown and say, _what are you thinking about,_ and what can Viktor say then?

So.

He doesn’t think about it.

He doesn’t think about the situation as a whole, actually: Yuuri in one place, him in another. They grow used to it, adapt to accommodate each other.

Nothing changes all that much, in the end. They still have skating, and studying, and sleepovers, and still see one another practically every moment of every day.

Maybe its Viktor that changes. Maybe it’s Viktor that’s overthinking when he’s trying not to think at all and making everything awkward and weird whenever Yuuri comes too close to him or brushes up against his shoulder on accident or does – something that reminds Viktor.

Maybe it’s him.

That ‘maybe’ quickly turns into a ‘definitely’, when Viktor and Yuuri are invited to Yuuri’s aunt’s wedding.

“Okay.” Viktor blows out a breath, steadying his waist-coat as he looks over himself in the mirror. “We can be cool. We can be so cool. 100%, totally, utterly cool.”

Viktor knows he’s lying to himself. He can’t be cool. How could he be cool? He’s going to witness Yuuri Katsuki, childhood best friend, probable soulmate, definite crush, in a suit and a bow tie, polished and perfect and utterly gorgeous.

It’s not lost on Viktor how attractive Yuuri is. Scratch that – how damn right, drop dead _beautiful_ Yuuri is, has always been, through ages 0 to forever, but Viktor’s only really noticed in the last few months.

Of course he always _knew_ Yuuri was handsome: girls are always making bento’s, Yuuri is always awkwardly and stutteringly declining, but it’s a different thing to know and then to _see_ , to witness and experience that beauty.

In the last few months, Viktor’s cheeks have heated and his gut has tightened whenever Yuuri laughed loud at his joke, but he blew all that off as being normal, it’s perfectly natural to be happy at his best-friend finding him funny.

Only Viktor’s cheeks grew warm and his gut grew tight at various _other_ things, like Yuuri leaning in close to see his homework, breath hot and a little sweet, the scent of his mint tea wafting across, his mouth what could only be described as dangerously close as his tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip and murmur _‘and that number goes over – are you okay, you look warm?’_

As well as Yuuri bending to tie his skates before lessons, the tendons of his strong arms flexing, his deft fingers flowing as he laces up ( _and Viktor has definitely 1000% **not** been behind Yuuri on these occasions, and has most certainly **not** turned the darkest shade of purple ever known on planet earth when he catches sight of Yuuri’s – ahem, to put it delicately, **glutes,** pert and firm and **–** )_

Either way, it became obvious that things other than platonic situations were causing reactions within Viktor, hot and squirming and _foreign_ , and so of course he didn’t know what it was until just recently, and of course it was totally innocent until then because he was still figuring it all out, he’s only just _realised_ –

Only now Viktor _has_ realised, every interaction with Yuuri seems anything _but_ platonic, and every though that enters Viktor’s mind feels anything **_but_** innocent, and it’s hardly his fault but it also _feels like his fault._

“Not thinking about it.” Viktor states.

And then promptly realises he’ll be seeing Yuuri in a suit in less than twenty minutes, because they’re going to the wedding together.

Viktor runs both hands through his hair and then finds a ribbon, scraping most of the silver strands back from his face and bowing the string at the back, pulling a few out tendrils so they frame his cheeks and don’t make him look too severe.

His mama told him weddings are very fancy and special occasions, but seeing as Viktor’s never been to one before, and that the internet only throws up results for female hairstyles every time he searches, _‘how to do long hair for a wedding’,_ he figures this will have to do.

There’s a knock on the door.

Viktor stiffens.

“Oh, come in Yuuri.” He hears his mama ay. “Wow, don’t you look handsome?”

Viktor can hear Yuuri’s laughter travel from downstairs, charmed a little gruff, with that signature note that Viktor has learned to read as embarrassed.

“Viktor ready yet?” Yuuri asks, a slight hint of nervousness in the question.

“Viktor!” His mama shouts.

Viktor takes another breath.

And then goes downstairs.

He only sees Yuuri’s back at first, but it’s enough – shoulders framed by perfectly tailored material, waist tapered in and fitted snug, until Yuuri turns, eyes curious and bright, cheeks a little flushed (no doubt from mama’s compliment, he can’t accept even the smallest praise), and Viktor finds himself stopping at the bottom of the stairs as he and Yuuri just stare at one another.

 _Wowowowowow_ , Viktor’s brain short-circuits.

Yuuri looks incredible.

Neat, crisp linen hugs Yuuri’s physique in a white buttoned shirt, a satin blue bow-tie rests against his throat, and the jacket of his suit is a stark contrast to it, a dark hue of black that offsets the colours and yet still matches his hair, straight and slick and brushed down softly to cover his forehead.

“H – hi.” Yuuri stutters, cheeks colouring as he falters, eyes roaming over Viktor.

Viktor had chosen a grey suit – he thought black might make his hair stand out too obviously – with a red tie with a pocket-square to match.

Yuuri’s mouth is softly open, a little agape, but then he blinks and the look is suddenly dispelled, composed and collected once again.

“Hi.” Yuuri states. Again. 

“Hi.” Viktor manages to breathe back.

“You – what – how are you?” Yuuri asks, fumbling as colour winds higher and higher up his neck, blotting his cheeks.

“S –” Viktor begins, and doesn’t know _why_ he began with the _letter_ _S_ , but needs to continue, needs to finish, and so he just says, “Stunning.”

Stunning.

 ** _Stunning_**.

But then Yuuri laughs, eyes crinkling not only at the corners but everywhere, mouth stretching wide and gorgeous, and Viktor sags in relief, feels his own mouth widen in response, laughter breaking free.

Tension still lingers in the air, and they’re awkward as they move around one another, bumbling and blushing and Viktor doesn’t know _why_ – it’s never been this hard to hide his feelings around Yuuri, but Yuuri’s nervousness only triples his own tenfold, and Viktor’s fingers tremble whenever they’re so much as within five inches of Yuuri.

The car journey is awkward.

They all pile into the backseat: Mari holding the ends of her dress close to her lap, Hiroko – _Miss Katsuki_ with one hand on her head to keep her hat in place, and it ends with Viktor and Yuuri squashed in-between despite the fact that it’s a three-seater but _oh, you can budge up can’t you?_

No, Viktor most certainly _cannot_ budge up anymore than he physically is at the moment without quite literally sitting in Yuuri’s lap – and as it is, their shoulders are so smushed they might as well be welded.

Viktor knows that physical contact can sometimes make Yuuri uncomfortable, and he knows this car journey is probably giving him all kinds of stress he doesn’t need, so Viktor does his upmost best to lean as far away as possible, giving Yuuri as much space as he can.

But it’s _difficult_ , and it ends with Viktor practically pulling a muscle in his neck to lean away from Yuuri before they’re able to get out.

Viktor and Yuuri fall out the car gasping for breath, sagging against the sides of the Volvo.

“Come on, you two!” Miss Katsuki shouts.

Viktor finds his parents inside and subjects himself to their kisses and smothers and gasps of, ‘look how handsome! A dashing young knight!”

Despite the fact it’s _Yuuri’s_ aunt, their families are so close at this point, practically having grown up and grown together alongside Viktor and Yuuri, that Viktor’s parents were invited anyway, and Yuuri wanted him to come too for company, _it’s going to be so boring and we’ll have to sit and endure our relatives asking if we’ve met anyone and you **really don’t have to** –_

_Yuuri. It’s alright. I’ll come. I want to._

_Really?_

_Yeah. Only if it’s with you._

Yuuri had flushed dark then, and Viktor hadn’t realised how those words sounded until later that night when he’d nearly suffocated himself to death screaming into the pillow.

But Viktor promised Yuuri he’d keep him company during the wedding, and so he slides into the seat next to Yuuri, who gives him a quick smile and a nervous glance before he whips his head back.

What has gotten into him today? It’s as if he can barely meet Viktor’s eyes.

 _Does he know_? Pierces Viktor between the ribs, before he brushes that aside. It’s illogical. Yuuri is the most insecure person Viktor’s ever met. It takes girls literally _emphasising_ in words that their bento’s are romantic, and not for his help on their homework, before he actually gets the message that they have a crush on him.

No. It would take a lot more than what Viktor’s done to convince Yuuri, and Viktor’s actively been trying to _hide_ it, so it wouldn’t make any sense if he knew. Surely he can't know. People can't just _know_ these things, unless they're told.

After all, Viktor has usually had no clue that a girl has liked him until they tell him to his face. Then again, Viktor hasn't exactly _known_ them at all.

Viktor’s thoughts are interrupted when Yuuri’s aunt begins to make her way down the isle and a hush falls over the church. Soft tinkling music begins, and the sense of magic seeps into the atmosphere.

Viktor has never been to a wedding.

He’s seen weddings. He watched them on TV. And he’s thought about his own until he realised what a wedding actually _was_.

But watching Yuuri’s aunt make her way to Yuuri’s soon-to-be uncle, Viktor feels his breath catch.

They look at one another as if there’s no one else there. As if they’re the only two people in the world. Viktor used to think that was some stupid line until he actually witnesses it before his very eyes.

Yuuri’s aunt –   _Hana_ , if Viktor remembers correctly – is radiant in all white, gown trailing behind her in elegant lace and tiara sat perfectly on top of her curls, making her look like a princess.

They haven’t even _spoken yet_ , and Viktor is emotional.

Until they do speak.

Viktor can hardly see past his tears.

The first sentences that begin with _, ‘best friend’_ and ‘ _knew from the first moment’_ are too much to handle. He tries to breathe through his nose and not cause too much of a scene, until something warm fall on top of his hand.

“Viktor?” Yuuri whispers, tilting his head down, soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth despite the fact his eyes are watery.

Viktor takes one look at him and finds his chest loosen and unfold, something blossoming within.

They both stare at one another, both too emotional to convey in words, before soft laughter begins to flow, stifled and muffled.

Yuuri covers his mouth, shaking his eyes, beam escaping behind his fingers despite the fact his crinkled eyes makes tears spill over.

Viktor feels his cheeks wet, feels the tears run down his face and gather at his jaw even though he’s smiling wide, even though he’s _happy_.

Yuuri’s hand doesn’t move from his, not throughout the whole wedding.

 

*

The reception is a lot different.

There’s music, and lights, colour and laughter. People talking and smiling. It’s just as magical, but a different kind of magic.

Viktor and Yuuri seated together at a table along with both sets of parents, but it’s alright, because they’re together.

As soon as dinner comes though and Katsudon is placed in front of them, Yuuri squeals as if he’s just received the best thing in the world.

“Oh my God,” Viktor laughs. “You love Katsudon way too much.”

“It’s so beautiful.” Yuuri whispers, eyes bright and luminescent behind the lens of his glasses, staring down at the bowl in wonder, mouth parting, tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip.

Viktor swallows as he watches. Why does Yuuri have to look so … _decadent?_ If it wasn’t food, Viktor would have been worried to see that look directed at anyone – _anything_ – else.

And then guilt pricks him, makes him feel uneasy. It’s not fair to harbour those kinds of thoughts, to think _Yuuri is mine, mine, mine_ no matter how much he wants to think it. But then, it’s not as if it would make Viktor happy if he locked Yuuri up in a basement and held him against his will.

He wants Yuuri to be happy, and even though the idea of Yuuri looking at someone the way he does a bowl of Katsudon makes something twist sharp and painful inside Viktor, if it made Yuuri _happy_ – really, truly happy, as happy as Hana as she walked down the aisle, if it made him laugh and smile and be happy, Viktor knows in time, he’d want that.

 _I want him to be mine,_ some deep, dark part of Viktor whispers. But it’s overpowered by, _I want him to **want** to be mine. _

Soon the dishes are taken away and the volume is turned up, welcoming more people onto the dance floor.

At first Viktor and Yuuri scoff, laughing it off as more and more people evacuate their tables.

However, soon Miss Katsuki is holding out arms towards her son, and Yuuri rolls his eyes, gives an apologetic smile to Viktor, and stands up.

“Don’t leave me!” Viktor hisses.

“Sorry!” Yuuri laughs, already sashaying away. Viktor can’t help the amused curl to his mouth – Katsudon always makes Yuuri a bit bolder. It’s rather hilarious, actually.

Viktor watches from the table, smiling as he sees Mari take Yuuri’s hands and spin him around. Yuuri is beaming wide, flushed and handsome and Viktor could watch on forever until a girl taps Yuuri on the back.

Yuuri turns, blinks, until she holds out her hands and Yuuri nods, and little awkward, posture stiffening as she moves close and begins to dance with him.

 ** _What_**.

Viktor sits up and leans forward, a strange, soft noise bubbling up within his throat before he realises it’s a growl. He’s growling.

Viktor flushes the darkest shade of maroon in existence, straightens himself up and glances around to check nobody heard that. Thankfully, nobody did.

God, what is he doing? _Growling_ if someone dances with Yuuri? They’re probably his relative!

Viktor takes another glance towards the dance-floor and sees the girl, flushed, smile bright, and Yuuri’s back facing Viktor.

No. Not relatives. Not with how close they are.

But Yuuri’s back is stiff, tense, and his feet move awkwardly, small steps as if he’s unsure what to do.

Viktor stands in an instant.

Something inside his chest rattles and shakes, wants _out_. He doesn’t know how to explain it, can’t really explain it, but Viktor follows it like he’s followed it a thousand times before, because it leads him to Yuuri, and usually in times Yuuri needs him the most – if he’s uncomfortable, or in danger, or scared, sad, something, _anything_. Viktor doesn’t care what it interrupts or how it makes him look – he’d follow the feeling to the ends of the earth if it led him to Yuuri.

“Excuse me.” Viktor taps Yuuri on the back, and Yuuri startles, another clear sign he’s anxious.

Viktor holds out a hand, palm-up, and bends his neck in a slight bow.

“May I have this dance?”

He hears Yuuri stammer, but his hand finds Viktor’s easily, as though _unconsciously_. Viktor grins with success and reels Yuuri in, ignoring the girl he’s just taken Yuuri from.

Yuuri relaxes piece by piece, unwinds in slow increments. First his shoulders, then his back, until the tension falls away like water down a river, and finally his hands go lax, sliding into Viktor’s properly.

“Thanks.” Yuuri breathes, and Viktor can feel the heat emanating of his cheeks from this distance. “You didn’t have to.”

“Who is she?” Viktor asks instead, and ignores the way his voice can’t quite keep the edge out, can’t keep away the bite.

Yuuri laughs. “Just one of Hana’s friends daughters.”

Viktor blinks, trying to do the math of that one. “Well. That makes sense.”

He was right. Not relatives.

But it's alright, because he has Yuuri in his arms now. _Safe_ , he tries to ignore his mind whisper.

Viktor’s feet move slow, guiding Yuuri along with him.

Yuuri leans against his chest after a beat, the song a slower one than before. Viktor smiles, gentle, hides it away into Yuuri’s hair. They’ve been close like this before, but usually in a different sense – in fact, Viktor doesn’t think they’ve ever danced together.

Not _together_ together. Sure they’ve _danced_ , when they were being silly at sleepovers or practising a routine to a song they loved, but never together: pressed to each other, hands entwined, steps slow.

It ends, eventually.

The song fades and Yuuri coughs, steps back.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, and Viktor frowns, confused.

“It’s okay. I didn’t –”

Yuuri is already scuttling away to the table though.

“ – mind.” Viktor finishes, a quiet breath.

He joins Yuuri after a moment.

Things are a little stilted, and Viktor rubs at the back of his neck, nervous, until Yuuri laughs.

“Always coming to my rescue.” He grins, embarrassed as he casts his eyes away.

“Well, it’s my job, isn’t it?” Viktor tells him, bumps him with an elbow. “I wouldn’t let anyone else do it.”

Yuuri turns to him, chuckles a little, pushes his glasses up as his cheeks go hot again.

Viktor smiles.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely artist I commissioned this piece for is [ gnappapon ](https://gnappapon-at.tumblr.com/) if you want to check them out!!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also Peasantaries on [Tumblr](https://peasantaries.tumblr.com/), [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/peasantaries), and [ Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/peasantaries/)! Come over and talk to me! I'll never bite <3
> 
> If you want to find ways to support me, you can find them there! (*^▽^*)( ﾉ^ω^)ﾉﾟ


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